


counterpart

by chanson



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Aliases, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Time Skips, a spy au with very little actual spying, mostly it's just a mess sorry, this is not a dark story but it might touch upon some dark themes?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-19 23:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16543985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanson/pseuds/chanson
Summary: “Agent Park is a highly skilled asset who approaches each op with the type of single-minded dedication that suggests there is nothing in his life he cares more about than completing the mission,” he reads aloud. “This is both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness.”In which Woojin gets a new handler, develops a crush, and learns a thing or two about life along the way.





	counterpart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shakeit_dontbreakit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakeit_dontbreakit/gifts).



> first of all, i am deeply sorry to hand over a fic this incomplete as you deserve so much better, especially since you've blessed the 2park tag with so many wonderful works of your own. 
> 
> this probably isn't the fic you expected to get, but i've wanted to try writing this type of au for a while... though i quickly found myself way in over my head, and sadly time and poor planning got the best of me. nevertheless, i hope there is still something here you can enjoy. i’ll have the rest of it up in the coming days. thanks for your patience. ♡

The mark hasn’t moved from his seat in forty minutes, looking entirely at peace as he sits, legs crossed, on the terrace of a chic Parisian café. Occasionally, he lifts his hand to pick up his espresso and take a small sip or to turn the page of this morning’s copy of  _ Le Monde  _ he’s currently engrossed by. 

Prior to today, Woojin didn’t even know it was possible to spend so long sipping at such a tiny cup of coffee. Or that real, living people still read newspapers.

If the background dossier hadn’t confirmed that this is what the mark does every morning from precisely 8:00-9:30 am, Woojin would’ve assumed his cover had been blown because it’s hard to believe that any man could be  _this_ dull.

Woojin watches all of this unfold from the third story balcony of the apartment across from the café. That’s one nice thing about taking jobs in Paris — surveillance it’s so much easier in a city full of terraces and balconies, and the only cover one needs is a lit cigarette.  
  
Although Woojin’s sharp eyes are trained on the mark, truthfully he’s only giving him about a third of his full attention. The majority of his current focus is spent processing the giant bombshell that was just dropped on him.  
  
“A-are you breaking up with me?” Woojin asks, voice cracking on the first syllable. He sounds utterly shattered.  
  
Unfortunately, Sungwoon knows him better than that.

The voice on the other end of his comms scoffs in Woojin’s ear. “Stop being dramatic. As if I don't know you’re thrilled to finally be let off the leash.” It’s too bad really because Woojin thought he sounded very convincingly heartbroken.

“I’m serious, I thought we had something special,” Woojin tries anyway, keeping up the charade for the hell of it. There’s not much else to do while standing alone on a balcony, waiting for something to happen, besides shooting the breeze. Or having a heart-to-heart. That might be why the most important conversations always seem to occur during stake-outs.

Sungwoon gives an exaggerated gasp. “Was that a verbal admission that I finally got through to you, Park?”

Woojin smirks. Sungwoon is, of course, referring to Woojin’s reputation for being a bit _difficult_ to manage. Or as Sungwoon puts it, _‘an arrogant pain in the ass that only someone possessing saintly qualities would willingly commit themselves to running backup for.’_

As an agent, Woojin is stubborn, strong-willed, and reckless, trusting his gut first and foremost, even over given research. He’s run down a number of handlers over the years he’s been a part of the W1 because it turns out very few people are willing to work with an asset who goes against their instruction almost as often as he follows it. Over time, Woojin has also developed the convenient habit of “losing” his earpieces during missions, much to the chagrin of the R&D department and the explosive anger of his many (now ex-)handlers.

Things came to a head ten months ago when Director Boa herself pulled Woojin aside and gave him a stern warning that he needed to clean up his act and “learn to be a team player” if he wanted to keep his job because “talent does not make up for a poor attitude.” She was a bit extreme, in Woojin’s humble opinion, as it’s hardly his fault he continues to be assigned incompetent partners.

Fortunately, his next handler changed that. Sungwoon turned out to be adaptable and reasonably smart, and for the first time, Woojin found himself working with someone who could keep up with him.

And now Sungwoon is ditching him. Not that Woojin is attached or anything. He doesn’t _do_ attachment. Sungwoon just sucks a little less at his job than other handlers is all.

“You ought to know by now that the only reason I keep you around is so if I die in battle, you can tell the masses of my heroic feats.”

“Sounds to me like you’ve just gotten soft,” Sungwoon sing-songs. Woojin is amused despite himself. “Admit it. You’ve been domesticated, like a house-cat. There are greater beasts in the jungle to tame now.”

“Ouch. Don’t sound too happy to ditch me,” Woojin says, “I thought that was my role.”

His fingertips feel warm and Woojin looks down to see the cigarette he’s holding has nearly burnt down to the filter — that’s how long he’s been standing outside waiting for the mark to do something. He stamps out the embers against the balcony railing and unearths the cigarette packet from his jacket pocket.

“Anyway, Kang Daniel might be hot, but I bet he’s nowhere near as fun as me,” Woojin says as he lights his second cigarette. He holds it loosely between his fingers and keeps it at arm’s length; it’s just a prop after all.

“If he’s even half as _fun_ as you, I’m sure I’ll have my hands full,” Sungwoon replies, dryly. He doesn’t deny that he’s being transferred to work with Agent Kang. Or that he finds Agent Kang attractive.

It figures. Woojin has yet to meet the agent, who, if the rumors are to be believed, is both ex-CIA and an ex-Bachelorette contestant, but the story of how he once brought down ten mercs with his hands tied and nothing but a penknife clenched between his teeth has been relayed to Woojin by at least three different people. _Of course_ , Sungwoon would be assigned to their new top recruit.

“You should be so lucky,” Woojin remarks. It’s now ten past the hour and the mark still hasn’t done anything out of the ordinary. He’s starting to grow impatient. “So if you’re with Kang, who do I get?”

There’s silence save for the faint tap-tapping sound of a keyboard before Sungwoon’s voice fills his ears once again. “Not much I’m authorized to share,” he says, and Woojin rolls his eyes because _fuck protocol_. That’s one thing he definitely isn’t going to miss about working with Sungwoon. “It says he just transferred from the Tokyo branch, though he worked in Seoul prior to that.” Sungwoon hums. “Oh! It looks like he’s got top scores across most categories. Comes highly recommended.”

“So what I’m getting from this is that he’s _new_.”

“I know what you’re thinking, but I doubt you’ll be able to terrorize him that easily,” Sungwoon says. “Honestly, from what I’m reading I think you might have met your match.”

 _What makes you think that?_ Woojin wonders, but before he can give voice to that thought, he sees the mark finally stand up from his seat just as Sungwoon hisses in his ear, “target on the move.”

And like that, all thoughts of his new handler are promptly forgotten.

Woojin watches the mark grab his coat and leave the cafe at a brisk march, a full ten minutes earlier than he does on a normal day. The break in routine pretty much confirms that he’s meeting someone.

“Looks like he’s heading south,” Sungwoon says.

There’s a park two blocks south of here, and if Woojin’s instincts are correct — which they most definitely _are_ — that’s where the mark will be headed.

“I’ve got my eyes on him,” Woojin reports.

And then, to keep Sungwoon on his toes, he takes a flying leap off the third story balcony.

 

 

Woojin doesn’t actually get to meet his new handler.

After he completes his mission in Paris, he returns to HQ in the outskirts of Seoul, which he also calls home. He stops by Medical to see Jisung, who tends to his minor injuries, and then he spends the next few days loafing around.

In all honesty, he forgets about his new handler until he receives his next assignment in the form of an email to his personal work account. Instead of Sungwoon handing him a manila folder jam-packed with papers, the debrief is entirely digital. No one meets him at the airport either.

After ten months of growing accustomed to Sungwoon's constant chatter, it’s a little disorienting.

He boards his flight to Jakarta alone, gets into the transport vehicle alone, and is finally dropped off at the hotel, still alone.

It’s not uncommon for a handler to be absent on a given assignment — but then again, it’s not exactly  _common_ either.

Sungwoon has always insisted on traveling with him, claiming it’s so he can keep an eye on Woojin, though Woojin is pretty sure it’s just because he gets bored without someone to nag.

Not everyone works the same way.

Some handlers prefer to remain anonymous; to keep their distance. They’re still somewhere physically proximate — at least, Woojin assumes that’s the case since they’re supposed to provide back-up in the field if worst comes to absolute worst, not that Woojin has ever needed it — but they don’t tell him where.

He doesn’t know if it’s a precautionary measure or because they want nothing to do with him personally. He’s never cared enough to find out either.

Still, Woojin finds himself vaguely disappointed that his new handler seems intent on keeping their distance, only because he’d been looking forward to annoying someone who had yet to build up their immunity to him the way Sungwoon had. It’s much less fun to irritate someone when you can’t see their reactions. Reduces some of the satisfaction.

 _Some_ , but not _all_.

Woojin always finds a way to have his fun.

Once he’s triple-checked everything he’ll need for this mission — it’s a straightforward recon op so he's not packing much — he switches on his earpiece.

“Hello Agent Park,” a smooth voice greets him. “I’ve been assigned as your new primary handler.”

He’s male, Woojin immediately catalogues. His voice is deeper than Sungwoon’s too, though he still sounds relatively young, probably late-twenties and close to Sungwoon’s age. He speaks formally, in carefully measured words.

“Hey, uhm…” Woojin trails off, hoping for a name to match with the voice.

“You may call me Agent 99.”

Woojin barks out a laugh. “You’re kidding right?”

There’s a pause and Woojin imagines that his new handler is frowning right now.

“Look, no offense sir, I know you’re new here, but I’m not going to call you by some codename,” Woojin continues when the silence drags on for a little longer than is comfortable.

“You don’t use aliases in the field?” His handler sounds faintly puzzled by that.

“Why bother? Our tech is the best in the world, no one is going to be able to tap our comms.” Truthfully, Woojin just hates formality, but it’s more of a Woojin thing than an actual rule at the W1. Thus far every unlucky person who has been tasked with being his partner has realized fairly quickly that their life would be a hell of a lot easier if they didn’t get combative with Woojin right out of the gate and just did what he wanted.

“That sounds careless.”

It seems like Ninety-Nine didn’t get the memo.

Woojin snorts. “You only need an alias if you plan on getting caught. So either you expect that you will be or you think that I can’t keep a secret.”

“Or maybe I just value my privacy,” Ninety-Nine shoots back. “And it’s never a bad idea to have a contingency plan.”

 _Of course_ , handlers and their contingency plans. Do none of them know that it's okay to just go with the flow sometimes?

“What type of codename is Ninety-Nine anyway?" Woojin asks, switching tracks. "Couldn’t you come up with anything cooler?”

Woojin didn’t actually pick his alias, but it’s way cooler than Ninety-Nine. _Sparrow_. He’s been called it since his rookie days because he’s fucking _fast_ and most people never see him coming. The moniker has gained a bit of international clout since then, and more than once, he’s overheard rookie agents at HQ whisper it in awestruck admiration to one another as he’s walked by. No one actually calls him Sparrow to his face though; Park is such a common last name that even the most by-the-book handlers to feel comfortable using it.

“Every support agent is assigned a number for simplicity's sake,” Ninety-Nine states, as though it should be obvious. “Your previous handler was Agent 11.”

Eleven, huh. It’s fitting — Sungwoon is small and violent and does have a preternatural love of waffles. Or maybe that’s just because every time Woojin got to pick their meal, he insisted upon breakfast food.

“That’s interesting I guess,” Woojin says, growing slightly agitated. He drank about a half-liter of coffee twenty minutes ago — his usual pre-mission ritual — and the caffeine is hitting him like a truck, “but we don’t care about formalities here. Just tell me your name.”

“Fine,” Ninety-Nine concedes and Woojin grins. Not so hard to crack after all. “You can call me Agent Park.”

“Come on now, that’s just _confusing_ ,” Woojin bemoans.

“You don’t want to use aliases,” Ninety-Nine responds, entirely unbothered. If he was filing his nails right now, Woojin would believe it. “So, Park it is.”

“I meant your first name. Look, you can call me Woojin. Everyone at the W1 does.”

“Noted, Agent Park.”

Woojin groans aloud, though it’s mostly theatrics. His new handler is already proving to be rather annoyingly obstinate, but objectively, it’s probably a good thing he’s not some pushover if he hopes to last.

“You’re really not going to make this working relationship easy, huh?”

“Let’s see if there even _is_ a working relationship to speak of before we make any leaps of judgment.” Ninety-Nine quips back.

Woojin raises his eyebrows. No one has ever tried to threaten him with the possibility of a transfer request before. Not when they know that what Woojin wants most of all is to be left to his own devices. That’s some deft reverse-psychology maneuver.  

“How about this, if I complete this mission, you tell me your full name.”

“ _If_ you complete this mission successfully, with no injuries or casualties — yes, I’ll tell you my name.”

Piece of cake. Woojin always enjoys a bet, even if the stakes are low; it ignites his competitive streak.

“Well then,” Woojin says, picking up his holster from the table, “I’m ready when you are, Ninety-Nine.”

 

 

Their first mission together goes about as well as one could reasonably hope for it to go. Which is to say, Woojin keeps his earpieces in and Ninety-Nine never raises his voice even when Woojin decides to ignore the mission parameters and follow a rather tenuous lead.

Once again, trusting his gut pays off. Things end up getting a bit more physical than expected, but that’s half the fun of it, and after fighting his way out of a warehouse full of enemies, Woojin emerges relatively unscathed with a list of influential names that signed an illegal trade agreement and coveted knowledge about a prized arms cache.

Woojin learns three key facts about his new handler after this first op.

Firstly, that he’s not easily rattled.

Even when Woojin classically _“Woojin-ed”_ and said _fuck you, no thanks_ to their established plans, Ninety-Nine took it all in stride. It meant that neither Woojin or Ninety-Nine were as prepared as they should’ve been, and Woojin mostly had to rely on his own physical combats skills to get himself out of his self-created mess. Still, Ninety-Nine did what he could, calmly pulling up new specs and relaying directions for an escape route without missing a beat, as though it had always been their intention.  

He doesn’t even cuss Woojin out once, which is the sort professionalism Sungwoon could probably learn from.

The second thing Woojin learns is that his new handler is very private.

Everyone who works in their field is to a degree, but Ninety-Nine is guarded even by Secret Service standards. Perhaps Woojin has grown too accustomed to the near constant stream of chatter that Sungwoon keeps up in his comms — a pleasant sort of white noise — but it is very noticeable that Ninety-Nine never initiates a conversation unless it’s directly related to the mission.

The op lasts for two days and that makes for a lot of silent hours.

The silence compels Woojin to speak more often, and he starts conversations with the intention of digging up more information about Ninety-Nine. Not because he actually cares all that much, but he gets bored and he can’t imagine what could be so special about Ninety-Nine that he feels the need to keep _every single detail_ about himself a secret.

And so Woojin does what he always does — he pushes.

Ninety-Nine doesn’t bend. He deflects every single one of Woojin’s inquiries with sarcasm, dodges all of his honey traps with practiced ease, and cleverly manages to kill every remotely interesting conversation by circling back to mission-related topics. It would be impressive if Woojin didn’t find it so irritating.

Thirdly, Woojin learns that when Ninety-Nine says something, he means it.

“I said no injuries,” Ninety-Nine asserts when Woojin points out that he hasn’t kept up his end of their deal.

“A dislocated shoulder and a couple of scratches are nothing considering the intel I got us,” Woojin reasons as he pushes himself through the door of his hotel room. He walks immediately towards the bed and pitches forward face-first into the sheets. He should probably wash the grime off of him, but he also just wants to rest for a moment.

“I went way beyond the call of duty,” Woojin mutters into the pillow.  

“That you did,” Ninety-Nine agrees. Woojin debates for a moment whether that’s supposed to be complimentary or not, but Ninety-Nine’s tone is too ambiguously neutral to say for sure. “But a dislocated shoulder is still an injury.”

“You’re impossible. It’s just a name!”

“Conditions are conditions, Agent Park,” Ninety-Nine says smoothly, adding, “the car comes at 0600 tomorrow. I suggest you wash up before then.” It’s followed by a soft click and then the line goes dead.

“Prick,” Woojin mumbles to the empty room.

He pulls the comms out of his ears, and with great effort, divests himself of his dirty clothes and drags himself to the shower. It’s funny how he can be full of explosive energy during a mission, but the moment it’s over and the adrenaline leaves his body, even walking feels like an impossible task.

He takes his sweet time under the shower spray, letting the warm water soothe his aches as he reflects over the events of the past two days.

He’s pleased with his personal performance — _when is he not?_ — though he’s still not sure what to make of Ninety-Nine. It’s almost impossible to form an opinion when he knows virtually nothing about him. At the end of the day, there are only two things that actually concretely matter: 1) that they completed the assignment, and 2) that Woojin hasn’t sent him running for the hills… yet.

When Woojin finally emerges from the shower, he pads into the bedroom to find a McDonald’s takeaway bag on the desk with a loopy message scrawled across it.

_‘You haven’t eaten in fourteen hours. -99’_

On cue, Woojin’s stomach rumbles loudly. He spares a moment to wonder how exactly Ninety-Nine snuck in without him noticing. Woojin’s guard is never fully down unless he’s at the base, and even with the shower running, his survival instincts should be sharp enough to sense another presence nearby.

He adds _sneaky motherfucker_ as number four to his short but definitive list of things he knows about Ninety-Nine and then rips open the bag.

“Oh bless you,” Woojin moans as he examines its contents. Maybe there’s something redeeming about Ninety-Nine after all because the bag is filled with all his favorite foods from the McDonald’s breakfast menu (so sue him, he likes to indulge every now and then).

 _Number five. Exceptional taste in breakfast items_ , Woojin notes as he enthusiastically unwraps an Egg McMuffin and takes a large, happy bite.

 

 

Between assignments, Woojin always spends his time at the W1 headquarters. It’s protocol for all field agents to return to the base after completing a mission — and it makes life much easier to get patched up by doctors who don’t question _why_ you’ve got blood on your hands that isn’t yours — but it’s not a requirement to stick around after the courtesy check-in.

Many agents prefer to live off-base in their own apartments or homes. Some have friends or partners or family they see during their breaks. Others simply want to spend it away from everything related to espionage, to create some distance between their job and the rest of their life.

Woojin is none of those.

He has no one he particularly yearns to see when he gets back, and the idea of living in some picturesque suburb, making small talk with his neighbors and pretending that his life is anything at all like theirs — that he can in any way _relate_ to them — sounds like pure torture. He’ll save the pretense for undercover missions thank you very much.

He’s been living in the agent quarters on the east side of the base since he first joined the W1. It’s nothing fancy — a singular room with an attached bathroom — but it’s a space that’s entirely his own. He’s invested in one of those fancy tempurpedic mattresses, and since the building is on a hill, his window has a rather pleasant view overlooking the rest of the sprawling complex. It’s probably nicer than anything he’d be able to afford in Seoul.

The cherry on top is that he’s got unlimited access to both the training facilities and the canteen, which means he still hasn’t been forced to learn how to cook, and since it’s HQ there’s always intel to sniff out or other agents to harass if he gets particularly bored.

Woojin spends the first day after Jakarta sleeping, like he always does after a mission. Even when he hasn’t suffered great physical harm, sleep remains a necessary part of the recuperation process as he’s rarely afforded the luxury of proper sleep on missions, always on edge and ready to wake up at a moment’s notice.

After twelve hours of being utterly dead to the world, he moves on to step two of his post-mission recovery plan: Refuel, also known as going to the canteen and stuffing his face with food as though his very existence depends upon it. It’s also where he gets caught up on any important events he missed because secret agents are, apparently and rather ironically, no better than high school students when it comes to gossip.

“So how’s the new handler?” Daehwi asks Woojin after watching with thinly veiled disgust as he shoveled an entire plate of mac and cheese into his mouth like it’s a garbage disposal. Now, Daehwi’s eyes gleam in anticipation of some juicy details.

Woojin, unfortunately, became acquainted with Daehwi when they were in the same group of agent trainees at BNM, though once Woojin started getting sent out on assignments and Daehwi rose the ranks on the intelligence side, their paths rarely crossed. It wasn’t until Woojin decided that the private sector wasn’t cutting it for him anymore and joined the W1 that they reunited. At the salon of all places. (Well technically there’s a fancy official name for the department that Woojin never bothers to remember, but they’re in charge of styling and disguise for missions — hence, _salon_.)

Woojin still doesn’t know exactly how Daehwi did it, but he somehow convinced both the stylist and Woojin that he should dye his hair a platinum blonde, which admittedly, was a pretty good call because Woojin looked hella sexy afterward. Apparently, to Daehwi, taking styling tips from him was synonymous with agreeing to be his friend. Jinyoung in R&D came as a package deal with Daehwi, and in the span of a couple of hours, Woojin found himself going from ‘lone wolf by choice’ to having regular lunch buddies.

“He’s...” Woojin taps his chin as though searching hard for the right word because it's always amusing to keep Daehwi in suspense. “Unusual.”

“Unusual how?” Daehwi leans forward on his elbows eagerly. Even Jinyoung has tilted his head, betraying his curiosity.

“For one thing, he wouldn’t tell me anything about himself. I spent almost fifty hours straight with him and I didn't even get a first name. He insisted I call him some lame codename instead.”

Daehwi deflates. “That’s it? That's literally protocol, Woojin.”

“Yeah, but come on, no one actually follows that." He’s met with two identical unimpressed stares. “Whatever. The guy has got to be even more of a stick in the mud than Sungwoon. I don’t think I heard him laugh or sound pleased even once.”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” Daehwi says because crushing egos is what he does for sport.

“Maybe he hates you,” Jinyoung chimes in, entirely unhelpfully. It’s a one-two sucker punch, only made worse by the fact that Jinyoung sounds bored, as though people hating Woojin is an everyday occurrence.

“He doesn’t _hate_ me,” Woojin retorts, racking his brain for evidence that would, in fact, support his stance. There isn’t much but— “Aha! He bought me breakfast. Ergo, doesn’t hate me.”

Daehwi looks dubious. “Breakfast from where?”

“McDonald's.”

“Yeah, he hates you,” Jinyoung confirms. He gives Woojin a consoling pat on the shoulder.

“I’ll have you know that McDonald's has really revolutionized their breakfast menu in the last year.”

“You do realize that handlers are given a stipend to take care of their assets right?” Daehwi says. “So he spent the bare minimum on you and pocketed the rest.” He pauses to take a long, pointed slurp of his coconut water. “I think that speaks for itself.” **  
**

Woojin scoffs. “For an intelligence agent, you are surprisingly far off the mark. I am un-hateable. _Extremely loveable_ in fact.”

“Who's been lying to you?” Daehwi says with a smirk.

“Don’t worry,” Jinyoung reassures, cutting in before Woojin can reply. He’s long grown accustomed to his role as mediator between Woojin and Daehwi. “If he does hate you, it means he won’t get in your way. Easier to stand back and just let you die from your own recklessness.”

Woojin squints at him. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a very morbid outlook on life?”

Jinyoung just shrugs.

“He’s probably already asked for a transfer,” Daehwi adds. “That’s what you were aiming for anyway, right?”

Woojin frowns. They’re not entirely wrong, and in their own twisted way, they probably think they're _helping_ , but Woojin resents the implication that he's already chased his handler off after just two days. Even if that's exactly what Woojin intends to do, just... on his own terms.  

Woojin shakes his head. “That’s before I knew what a spectacular team we make,” he says primly and rises from his seat.

He’s doesn’t have to stand for this. He’s going to ignore his colleagues and get a second generous helping of mac and cheese because the lady who serves it _loves_ him because Woojin is just _that_ charming. Ninety-Nine should consider himself lucky that he gets to partner with Woojin.

 

 

A flash of pink. A flurry of movement as a guy almost falls over his own feet, dashing past Woojin. A sweet voice fumbling over rushed apologies to the person he’d collided with.

Woojin watches the entire scene unfold from his prized position in the mac and cheese line. The guy speed-walks towards the exit with his head ducked and his eyes trained to the floor — probably the reason why he’d run into someone in the first place. Woojin can’t see his face, but he’s still eye-catching in his oversized pink sweater and navy beret that sits upon a crown of soft brown waves. Amongst the sea of regulation attire that most agents prefer to wear, the guy is practically a beacon. Almost literally, as his ears are glowing bright red in embarrassment.

Woojin is positive he hasn’t encountered him before, and though the same can be said about many others at the W1, there is something about this particular guy, in this particular moment, that piques his interest.

“Hey man, the line is moving,” a disgruntled voice behind Woojin says. He blinks, noticing for the first time the large gap that has formed between him and the girl in front of him.

He turns back around just in time to see the guy in beret weave his way through the last of the tables and leave the canteen. Always one to trust his gut, even if he doesn’t always know why it’s telling him to pursue a particular lead, Woojin makes the split-second decision to give up his cherished position in line and make his way after him.

It doesn’t take long for Woojin to catch up and soon he’s keeping pace with the other, though he maintains a generous ten meters between them. There are enough people around at first that Woojin hardly seems inconspicuous, but the crowd thins as the guy turns down corridor after never-ending corridor, and soon it’s just him and Woojin in an empty hallway.

As a rule, it’s not a good idea to spy on another spy because they know all the tricks in the book. There’s no way Woojin won’t be caught if the guy sees him, but at this point, his curiosity over where he’s headed has only increased, and plus, he notices belatedly, he has absolutely no idea where they are within the giant cavernous HQ building anymore.

Just in case, Woojin slows his pace to even more of a stroll, keeps his tread light and unhurried, but the other guy never turns around.

 _Maybe this guy is just as lost as I am_ , Woojin thinks after a few more minutes of pointless tailing. He considers if he should just give up the whole silly charade; if he should just call after him and strike up a conversation instead.

Then, Woojin turns a corner and is met with a flying kick to his throat — or what would be his throat, if Woojin’s reflexes weren’t so highly trained, working faster than his brain.

He swipes away his attacker’s leg, arms coming up to shield himself automatically.

“Oh, it’s you,” his attacker says, dropping his fists to his sides at the same time Woojin cries out, “what was _that_ for?!”  
  
Now that his attacker doesn’t seem intent on hurting him, Woojin relaxes his stance and drinks in the sight before him with thirsty eyes. The guy’s pink sweater looks even softer up close, his beret is slightly askew and strands of golden brown hair fall into his eyes, but most significantly, he’s _beautiful_. Quite possibly the most beautiful person Woojin can ever remember seeing.

His lips are plush and pink, albeit a bit chapped, and he’s got soft cheeks, a sharp nose, and eyes that are big and almond-shaped and _glittering_ despite the shitty fluorescent lighting illuminating the space. His entire aura reads as pure and endearing, and Woojin half expects a choir of angels to descend from the heavens and burst into song — even though as a rule, no one that works for the W1 is innocent. The fact that Woojin nearly took a boot to the jugular confirms that this guy does not prove to be the exception.

Finally, his brain decides to take a break from the sappy lovestruck musings and catch up with what was just said. “Wait, what do you mean ‘ _oh it’s you’?_ You know me?”

If they’d met before Woojin would’ve remembered, so the only possible alternative then is that he knows of Woojin in the abstract sense — not the strangest thing, since Woojin’s reputation at the W1 precedes him — which begs the question, what exactly has he heard?

The guy rolls his eyes pretty, sparkling eyes and changes the topic. “Why are you stalking me?”

“I just wanted to introduce myself,” Woojin says, figuring there’s no point in denying it since the guy quite literally led them into a dead end. “I’m Park Woojin. Field Agent. But maybe you knew that already…” Woojin trails off hoping he’ll take the bait. When he doesn’t, he continues, “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you new?”

He’s babbling slightly, but at least he’s forming real sentences that make some sort of sense. Considering how he currently feels like someone upended an entire bucket of butterflies in his stomach, it could be worse.

The guy sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and crosses his arms. He looks uncomfortable, maybe a bit shy. _Probably not a field agent then_ , Woojin deduces, although his combat skills seem up to par.

The silence drags on for so long that Woojin is about to repeat himself before the guy finally answers. “Please don’t follow me anymore.”

It’s dismissive. It’s polite. It catches Woojin entirely off guard, so much so that he can only stand there as the other walks past him, shoulders faintly brushing against Woojin’s as he does so.

Woojin stares after him, too stunned by the abrupt rejection to react. He watches until the guy disappears around the corner. Then, he promptly realizes he has no fucking clue where he is.

It takes another twenty minutes for Woojin to find his way back to the canteen, and the only reason he even bothers is because he forgot his phone there and the idea of leaving it in Daehwi’s devious hands is plainly terrifying.

He doesn’t encounter the guy again.

“Where did you go?” Daehwi asks when Woojin saunters back to the table. They’ve moved onto the dessert course as evidenced by the stack of empty pudding cups in front of Jinyoung, and the canteen is half empty now that they’ve run out of mac and cheese, but Woojin can’t even dredge up any anger at the fact that he’s missed out on seconds.

Woojin sits down heavily in his seat and lets out a longing sigh. “I think I just met an angel,” he says, dazed.

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be posted as a much longer one-shot, but i had to chop it up into chapters to get it up by the deadline, which has, in turn, affected the pacing somewhat, so my apologies if the chapter breaks feel rather abrupt. i promise this story is going somewhere even if it doesn't seem like it right now! jihoon will definitely feature more prominently in the coming chapters so fret not my fellow winks.
> 
> my sincerest thank yous —
> 
> * to jess for generously hosting this exchange, for being gentle with me despite my being a complete wreck, and for allowing me more time to finish this fic. happy birthday hun! 
> 
> * to k & j for listening to me cry and whine and do everything but actually write, for helping me figure out the story i actually wanted to tell, and most of all, for showering me with constant encouragement, love, and support. i don’t know where i’d be without you both and i hope i never have to find out. also shout out to r for the bolstering words and sharing your jihoon-related expertise. 
> 
> * to you, lovely reader, for reading this far. i hope it wasn’t too much of a disappointment. please stay tuned, as there will be more to come!
> 
> xx


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